How can it already be a week and a half since Michael passed? It doesn't seem real, then I see the pile of laundry I have and it becomes real. (Michael did the laundry!)
This past week has been the most love filled week I have ever had. While it's ironically the absolute worst week ever, the love that I've been shown has lifted me so high. I keep writing about the love because I am scared I will forget what it has felt like.
Growing up I knew my parents and family loved me, but I always had the underlying message from my mother that I wasn't good enough. Too fat. Too messy. Too loud. Too wrong.
When I met Michael it took me a long time to really believe he loved me. It was years before I settled in and realized it was forever. For ages I waited for him to see that I was too much ... too much to love.
He never did. In fact, while he'd hate me for this, he'd sometimes well up with tears and tell me how much he loved me. Such statements were always met with a hug, a kiss, and a reassurance that I too loved him so much. He never knew that those moments caused me to step back and wonder just who was this woman he loved. He honestly was the one single person who taught me that I am worthy of love.
Knowing I'm worthy isn't an easy battle. I'm still in awe of the love handed out so generously this past week and half. From the oldest person I know, to the youngest, there has been comfort and love. Everyone's words and actions have helped me piece myself together and start putting one foot in front on the other.
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